by Rex Hazelton
Jeaf saw the king's eyes squint and his jaw muscles tighten. “Not only are they our constant enemies… they are our ancient ones as well. For all you see about you, either on this side of the G'Nyrly Cove or on the other side, is what is left of the Kingdom of the Bjork, the great realm that once spread across the northern reaches of Ar Warl.”
More than three centuries ago, Ab'Don led his army of conscripts, mercenaries and monsters against our fair land- raping, slaughtering and pillaging as he went. Though our fathers fought valiantly, their stubbornness nearly led to our extinction since they wouldn't flee once it was clear that the war had been lost. Fortunately, Bjoern the Fearless was able to lead an armada of one-hundred longboats out to sea before the wave of destruction came crashing down on our fathers' heads. Of the one-hundred, only half survived Laviathon's attempts at stopping their escape.” The king paused to let this fact sink in. “Eventually we sought shelter in Vineland. After enjoying a winter of hospitality, we set out for a part of Nyeg Warl that reminded us of our own kingdom, and we have lived here ever since, though our very bones call us back to our ancestral land, a place where we cannot yet go. Today we spend our days exacting revenge on those who sought to extinguish the Bjork flame.”
Baryk pointed to a picture of a hammer that was carved into the top of the wooden table sitting before him. It was the symbol of his god. “In our despair, following our exile, we called out to Wygean. Thankfully, he had pity on us and gave us the Magic of invisibility and Silence, things twe cloak our ships in whenever we go on raids. Using this power, not even Laviathon, with all his evil magic, can see or hear us. The only way he can detect our movements is by locating the wake that our ships make. But even then, the invisibility and silence that surrounds us helps even up the odds in the battles we've had with him and his children.” The king paused and looked down at his feet. “Why the very carpet you're standing on is made from crocodon hide. We've taken a blood oath to wage unceasing war against our fathers' murderers, and one day we hope to regain that which was taken from us. So, you see, your battle with Laviathon is of great interest to us.”
Amazed by the king's tale, the young Woodswane asked, “Is this why the images of both the hammer and dragon are found throughout Thundyrkynd?”
“That's correct.” The king's red braids gently swayed as he nodded his head before redirecting the conversation. “What other proofs do you have, save this wizard's word?”
“A wizard's word is all you'd need if you had ears to hear.” A touch of irritation spiced Bacchanor's reply while he swung his strong arm around and pointed at Goldan. “But if you need more proof… behold a miracle!”
“Well spoken wizard. Having a Tsadal celebrate the Feast of Autumn's Glory with us is indeed a great miracle.” The king was endeavoring to remove the offense that his earlier words may have conveyed. “A Tsadal warrior? Now that is weighty proof. Believe me when I say, I agree with you Brave Bacchanor, a wizard's word is proof enough for me.” The king nodded obligingly at his brown-clad guest, who in turn nodded back. “Yet, I still wish to gain as full an account of these strange tidings as I can.”
“Well then, Good Sir, let me tell you what my eyes witnessed in the Valley of the Tsadal and on the road to Thundyrkynd.” Goldan stood and expounded on the drama that unfolded in Credylnor and then on the Alabaster Mountains' height.
The crowd, amassed before the king's pavilion, gasped when they heard how Trycanor had been consumed in blue flames when he illegitimately struck the Hammer of Power.
Not long afterwards, Bjork warriors were placing their fists to their hearts, acknowledging the Tsadal's sacrifice in saving the hammer from those who assailed Jeaf on his journey to Thundyrkynd.
Once Goldan was finished, King Baryk stood and lifted his hands to silence the talk that had been swirling about with the telling of the stories. “Jeaf Oakenfel,” he said. We have seen you fight and use magic few possess. All the while, you have displayed chivalry.” Placing his hand on his son's shoulder, he continued. “Hear me now. We believe Commander Goldan's words. Though we know the Tsadal to be an obstinate and mean-spirited people, we have never heard of them being accused of lying.” Looking Goldan in the eye, the king added, “Please forgive me for my frankness, for we live in a day when direct speech is sorely needed.”
Turning to Jeaf, King Baryk's words took on a measured tone used by those making a declaration. “Let it be known, we've accepted you as the Hammer Bearer since our prophecies have told us that the Promised One would visit our cities at such a time as this and that a sign from the heavens would accompany him. Though this sign has yet to come, we have no doubt it will. We believe that the man you call Whistyme is Wygean's Messenger. Though the rest of Nyeg Warl does not call on Wygean, we Bjork know the magic that all use is from one and the same source. In the final analysis, the names which are ascribed to this power are of little consequence to us. For we believe that what is in a man's heart is more important than what is in his head. Though you may not think you are carrying Wygean's Hammer… we know that you are.”
Turning, once more, to Goldan, the king casually remarked. “We may not be quit the heathens some think we are.”
Catching Baryk's jab, the Tsadal commander stood. “Sir, I, in the place of my people, ask you and your brethren to forgive us for the arrogance and blindness that has caused us to treat you disrespectfully. For I say to you, I have seen those who the Tsadal elders say lack sight and are deceived accept the truth of the Hammer Bearer when my own people would not.” Slamming his fist to his chest, much like he had seen the Bjork do, Goldan added, “I swear that when the war is over, if you will have me, I will return to your land and sit at your teachers' feet so that your wisdom may intermingle with that of my own fathers.” Goldan's words seemed to lift much of the rejection the Tsadal had inflicted on the Bjork.
Satisfied at what he heard, the king nodded towards his guest. “Our ships have brought us news of Koyer's invasion. We have been told that his forces have crossed the Cragmar River and are now bivouacked south of the Crescent Steppes. The plague is upon us, and when spring comes the fate of Nyeg Warl will be decided by the shedding of much blood. My Good Tsadal, if you survive all that is coming, then we'll gladly welcome your return. But for now, all I ask is that the Hammer Bearer tell us what he requires the Bjork do?”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming. But, I'm hesitant to say that I know what you should do.” Jeaf's face turned red with embarrassment for not having answers for those who were clearly depending on him to turn the tide of evil away from Nyeg Warl. “I'm on my way to Vestylkynd where Alynd, my friend and mentor, believes I will find answers to the questions you pose. Since I know your people are experienced warriors, I only ask that you stay abreast of what is happening in the warl and respond accordingly.”
“You say that Alynd is your mentor?” King Baryk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Indeed, the broth thickens. We know the Elf-Man as Mystlnor. If he is your mentor, then Nyeg Warl is in better hands than I imagined.”
Moving over to Jeaf, the king embraced the young Woodswane before giving the hammer back. “Soon, we'll begin preparations so that we will be ready to face the evil that rushes upon us, but not today. For today is the Feast of Autumn's Glory!” And with a wave of his hand the festivities went into full swing as if the lull had not taken place.
In time, Jeaf was dancing with the beautiful Bjork maiden who had tended to his wounds the previous day. Goldan, now wearing a Bjork jerkin, danced awkwardly beside his friend for the Tsadal thought dancing catered to passions best left alone. As the commander's inexperience was inflicted on the maiden, whose hand he held in his own, he wondered who would be worse for the wear, Fyreed, after their wrestling match, or his poor Bjork partner, after he was done trampling her feet during the rousing dance.
Mostly, the auburn-haired woman just grinned and bore his indignities. But from time to time, she gritted her teeth and launched a retaliatory shot aimed at Goldan's shins
. Realizing what the maiden was doing, the Tsadal marveled at how tough the Bjork women were. The little spitfire simply wasn't going to let him get the best of her.
Fyreed, who wore the Tsadal commander's blue coat as he danced close by, laughed when he saw Goldan and his partner sparing with each other.
As the festivities swept toward evening, storm clouds gathered in the east. Rising high into the heavens, a colossal thunderhead quickly developed, one that sent veins of electricity coursing through the darkening sky. Still, the celebration continued. The Bjork were hoping the storm would blow itself out before it reached the twin cities of Thundyrkynd.
The contrast between the brilliant sun in the west and the inky blackness, pouring out of the east, was quit astonishing. In time, the clouds began arching over the city, threatening to ruin the celebration. But before they did, a shadow swept over the field where the dancers danced, a shadow not cast by the approaching storm. Alerted to the intruder, the revelers scoured the last of the sunlit sky. The rising winds blew against their backs, tossing their long braids before their worried eyes, as they did.
Once the people saw the reason for the shadow, they scattered and ran for their weapons. But before a bow could be strung, a huge winged-lion landed in the field and cried out with a loud rumbling voice. “Peace friends... do not fear! I am Grour Blood from the island of Stromane.”
The massive beast casually strode toward the king's tent while dozens of warriors strung their bows and aimed their razor-sharp arrows at the tawny beast's heart. Though the Bjork were not ignorant of the griffin' good reputation, they chose to be cautious. After all, the winged-lions had not been seen in Nyeg Warl for more than a century's time, and the stories of the Fallen Ones who followed Ab'Don in his bid to conquer the Warl, those griffin who had eaten man flesh, remained a part of their oral history.
Sensing the tension in the air, Grour Blood cried out, once more, in his deep booming voice. “Peace, I say! Put down your weapons. I have tidings you must hear.” A gigantic tree of electricity, whose branches reached out for the warl below, filled the black clouds as he spoke. “Laviathon is on his way!”
Hearing the odious name of the Bjork's mortal enemy, the king stepped out to greet the huge griffin. “What news do you have for us? What of the evil serpent?”
“This is no ordinary storm that rushes towards you; the creature Laviathon brings it with him like a horse pulling a cart. Yet, this must be Ab'Don's doing. The magic is too great for the dragon to conjure up all by himself!”
Having given his warning, the griffin turned round-and-round trying to decide what to do. Finally, he stopped and faced the king who was busily dispatching runners with warnings of the danger sweeping towards Thundyrkynd. “My work here is done.” The winged lion bowed his head as head before he added, “The storm's strong winds will prevent me from flying into battle to aid your cause. I must be off before they increase. Beware of the water spout!” The tawny beast gave a final admonition as he leapt into the air and tried to out race the approaching storm.
Jeaf watched the great griffin fly away. Flitting about through the mounting winds, the legendary creature raced off into the distance. After the huge winged-lion diminished to the size of a dark speck, the Hammer Bearer turned toward G'Nyrly Cove where he saw scores of small crafts paddling towards the longboats. Many had already unfurled their square sails and were quickly moving deeper into the narrow inlet. Not long afterward, the rest of the longboats were racing to catch up with the leaders as fear and darkness followed close behind.
Thunder boomed out of the black sky, sending long trailing rumbling noises reverberating through the surrounding mountains, making the storm seem like it was a living beast that was announcing its arrival.
Though shrinking in size, the clear western skies enabled Jeaf to see the unfolding drama. Scores of longboats, that had moved deeper into the cove, were now lined up in a semicircle. The winds increasing violence made it necessary for the Bjork to lower their sails. Using oars, bristling from the sides of the ships like a sea otter's whiskers, they positioned their vessels for battle. Sailors were leaping into the water. Others were casting cables from one ship to the other. The movements of the men, and the longboats they road in, were clearly a premeditated strategy devised to meet the ever-present threat of an attack by the evil lizard, Laviathon.
Jeaf who, along with Goldan and Bacchanor, had made his way to the city's battlements, saw how the rocky shores, separating the walls from the dark green sea, were covered with metal spikes of varying size. Having fought the terrible reptile himself, he knew that the spikes had been carefully placed to prevent Laviathon from slithering close enough to the city to spew forth his fire. A huge storm wall, heaped up between the shore and the city's battlements, had been constructed to put even greater distance between the Bjork dwellings and the serpent's incendiaries.
Several bolts of lightning, striking nearby trees and sending them up in flames, let Jeaf know that Laviathon would not be the only thing the Bjork would have to worry about. The fire of the gods, falling at such a rapid rate that the sounds of thunder unceasingly roared in the Hammer Bearer's ears, torched more trees, along with a number of homes, as havoc swept over Thundyrkynd. Huge hail stones, mixed with icy rain, pummeled Jeaf and the others, causing them to seek shelter in one of the towers standing upon the city's walls.
Then, in the midst of the mayhem, the terrible lizard came leaping like a giant dolphin, high upon the huge white caps that the evil storm rudely pushed into G'Nyrly Cove. Aware that his fire could not reach the city, Laviathon sought to wreak havoc on the Bjork fleet. The throngs of people, who had positioned themselves to view the battle, shouted and hurled curses at the sea serpent who swam toward their family members, those awaiting his assault aboard the sturdy longboats.
Laughing as he leapt, heaving his bulbous torso and long neck above the raging waves, Laviathon spewed fire into the darkening sky, mocking the multitudes' anger. With his pride swelling over the opportunity to display his remarkable magic before such a large audience amassed on either side of the cove, the serpent entered the cove like he was a gladiator entering a coliseum full of spectators.
Jeaf rubbed his eyes as he saw Bjork longboats dissolving in the turbulent air before they vanished from sight. Seeing this phenomenon, Laviathon drove hard toward the fleet, hoping to arrive before the others could disappear, as well. Faster and faster the terrible lizard sped towards his target until he was amidst the boats. Though the Bjork numbers had been cut in half by the magic they were invoking, the sea serpent moved against the nearest vessel, spraying it with his evil fire. Amazingly enough, the ship was not entirely consumed by the incendiary volley. Only a handful of spotty fires could be seen scattered over its hull.
A guard, who was stationed in the tower, explained to Jeaf and the others that the longboats were outfitted with the skins of slain crocodon. These, they were told, repelled the dragon's fire. Hearing this explanation, the men saw that the longboats carried tarps made of crocodon skin that had lain hidden beneath the vessel's ramparts. Now unfurled, the coverings cloaked the narrow ships' sides and decks with flame resistant scales. All the while, brave Bjork warriors could be seen putting out the fires that burned on their exposed portions. Happily, the heavy rain did most of the work, freeing the warriors from having to unduly expose themselves to other flaming volleys.
Armed with sharp retractable battering rams, extending downward off their bows, the longboats began lunging at the serpent, even as they continued vanishing from sight. Laviathon's neck twisted violently as an invisible longboat rammed his enormous side, sending fire cascading forth like wine thrown from a discarded goblet. Enraged, the terrible reptile charged another ship and bit off the dragon's head carved on its bow. This opened a hole in the belly of the vessel, a hole Laviathon soon filled with combustible liquid. Another invisible ship rammed the great lizard from the other side, causing him to cry out in pain as the sharpened lances dented his heavy sc
ales.
Laviathon retaliated.
Biting the bow off one of the last visible longboats, he vomited his flaming death into the breach. Then he dove beneath the turbulent water's surface to attack the undersides of those ships that he could still see.
Jeaf would later learn how the terrible lizard tore into the bottom of the boats, leaving gashes that the Bjork sailors worked feverishly to plug before they sank. One of the vessels had been so horribly rent that it nosed skyward and then slipped, backwards, beneath the waves. But it did not go completely under. Its bow remained above the water, marking its burial site.
Hastily, the evil serpent reemerged, not only to refill his lungs, but out of fear. He had discovered the trap the Bjork fleet had set for him. Engrossed in his mauling, Laviathion had inadvertently brushed up against a fish net made of interlocking rings of steel that spread out between the invisible longboats that were converging on Thundyrkynd's mortal enemy.
Each vessel carried a segment of this massive webbing. The sailors who earlier dove into the cove's dark green water, and those who threw cables from one longboat to another, did so to piece the snare together. The boats that took turns ramming Laviathon, were only trying to draw his attention away from the steel web that was closing in on him. It was this metal net that kept the bow of the foundered vessel visible since it didn't allow the longboat to sink into the cove's dark depths.
Recognizing the danger he was in, Laviathon spun around trying to decide what he should do as the unfamiliar emotion of fear sent adrenaline coursing through his massive body. Seeing the net being hoisted out of the water, creating a wall that would prevent his escape, the terrible lizard made a quick decision and dashed for the lowest portion of the barrier. His bulbous bulk and huge tail wriggled rapidly from side-to-side as he tried to gain enough inertia to carry his massive form out of the water and over the steel web rising up before him. After a moment's time had passed, an explosion of salt water shot into the air, the evil reptile's body filling its center as if he were the pistol of a huge flower. And when the flower fell, the sound of groaning from the boats' stressed timbers rose above the din of the storm.
